Black Rain
by icedcooly
Summary: An account of the beginning of Yumi's relationship (if it can be called that) with Shishio in her perspective.
1. Part One: First Stirrings

Black Rain by Charlene

Part One: First Stirrings

Standard disclaimers apply

When I first saw him, I didn't know what to think. I was in the middle of setting out the tea things and stopped, nearly loosening my grip completely on the delicate teapot. My eyes stared fixedly at him, betraying my horror and confusion. My trance was broken only by the sudden scalding heat of steam on my right hand. I glanced down and realized that I was barely holding the handle of the teapot, and steaming green tea had spilled out of the spout onto the floor.

Chagrined, I gestured desperately to the nearby maid to clean up the mess and tried to get myself together in the process. I was an oiran for crying out loud! When the puddle had been wiped up and the men—two of them now I could see, a smiling boy and that…that hideous monster, had settled, I gave them both a firm smile and knelt before them as if nothing was wrong. 

The ways of a geisha so deeply ingrained in me, the years of intensive conditioning had saved me from making a fool of myself and ruining my reputation of the best oiran in Shnyoshinara. I pushed back my right sleeve with my left hand and proceeded to delicately fill the tiny cups with sake, giving the impression that I was doing something I had done everyday of my life, when it actually required intense concentration and skill. I was especially proud of my serving skills. I had been complimented on them more than once by men considered to be the leaders of Japan.

Now that I was done, I settled back and smiled pleasantly at both of them, trying hard to curb the rising terror in my heart. I couldn't help it. I was repulsed by him. The skin around his eyes and lips, the only areas of skin not hidden by the lengths of bandages, was charcoal black. And his eyes—oh what fear they shot into my heart! They were red, red and burned with something I had seen often in my days as an entertainer, but never with such startling intensity: mercilessness. Cold, raw, red mercilessness.

My gaze danced falteringly between the two, never lingering too long on him for fear he might rebuke me. And I knew, somehow, that there was no such thing as a simple rebuke for him. If he truly wanted to show his displeasure… I shuddered, not wanting to complete the thought.

For now, I concentrated on entertaining them for, having gotten through to me, their status or wealth had to be considerable. The boy, I learnt, was Seta Soujirou. He was the one who answered when I talked, who laughed at my anecdotes and practised chatter. The man beside him remained silent and brooding, his gaze transfixed on me. That unnerved me although I should have gotten used to the ways of men by now. Somehow, this man struck a previously untouched chord of deep awe and panic in me.

Halfway through the night, I found my hand shaking, my being thoroughly fatigued from attempting to put up a pleasant front to the both of them when my insides twisted painfully with suppressed fear each time I happened to dart a glance in his direction and find him staring intently at me, as if he were sizing me up.

Finally, to my relief, the boy—Soujirou, passed out wearily on the floor. I wanted to scream to give the coiled up tension in me some release, but I realized that I now had to deal with his companion, Shishio-sama, as Soujirou had introduced. And deep dread, undescribable in its unsettling depths, settled painfully in the pits of my stomach.

"I suppose you will be staying the night, Shishio-sama?" I asked, trying my best to sound as casual and as at home as I was, when I usually dealt with difficult men. I tried as best I could to hide the consternation I felt so acutely raging within me, for I was a geisha and geisha didn't show their true feelings. Hiding your feelings was by itself an art.

The next thing he said I could never have been prepared for. "You cloak your fear very well, Yumi-san." This was the first thing he had said to me and also the first time I heard his voice, so I was caught off guard for the coarse gravelly texture of his words. I was so petrified I thought my shaking hands would betray me, but I hid them on my lap demurely, surreptitiously trying to steady them.

Instead I found myself smiling at him a smile of feigned ignorance, and responding nonchalantly, "What are you talking about, Shishio-sama?" He smirked through his bandages, giving a frightening impression of the devil himself, then went on, "You don't need to hide anything from me. I am a hitokiri and hitokiri are very perceptive, unlike the dirty politicians you usually consort with."

I caught my breath at his words, swift fear stabbing at me, but I hid it, as usual. Fear because of the rarely spoken word. Hitokiri. I should have guessed he was what he was, but terror had shadowed all other thoughts out of my almost numbed mind. I went on quickly, painfully aware of the tiniest tremor in my voice—so tiny no one else would have noticed. But a hitokiri was not "no one else."

"I'm sure you do not mean that, Shishio-sama. The men I consort with, as you say, are respectable men of considerable status and wealth…like yourself," I added, lowering my eyes in a smooth practised motion. I could not afford to annoy my visitor, and if I did, I had to cover it up with flattery. I learnt that over the years of striving to become the best oiran. Men were actually pretty predictable if you really observed them.

He laughed, if you could call it laughter, for it was an inhuman sound, grating on and rubbing on my already frayed nerves like sandpaper. Then an uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable for me, that is, but he was probably enjoying it judging by the relaxed and smug look on his face.

True, Shishio-sama's face was obscured by the bandages and what little skin I could see was hardly—readable, but his eyes showed you directly what he wanted you to feel.

Fear. I want you to feel fear. Of me.

I refused to say a thing. I was stubborn by nature—I knew that. But underlying that thick layer of resentment was terror. Oh god, terror that my unyielding glare, the surge of hot spite that overcame my painted face would be my last.

Before I could snap, he broke the silence with a patronizing, "We will stay the night, if it's not too much trouble." His amber eyes, which glinted with a predatory self-satisfaction, shifted to settle over me once again. "Or is it?" His voice—it stirred something within me I could not put a name to. I was certain that if it had not been cracked and broken by whatever ill-fated disaster that had befallen him, it would have been silky and rich. Like sake of the finest quality.

"No trouble at all, Shishio-sama. We have plenty of room," I said breezily, keeping my tone as light as my racing heart would permit me to. "I should retire now, unless of course—" I stopped short, the very possibility of it seeping ice into my veins. I could not—no, I must. He eyed me lazily, like a large majestic cat observing his prey's last struggles. "Unless of course—" I bowed. "—you want me to stay."

His lips curved upward in a smile of quiet satisfaction.

"No, I wouldn't want to impose too much." He savoured the impact those words made on me slowly. My relief was so apparent, so choking, that all I could do was perform the customary bow, and dash out of the room, somehow managing not to rip my priceless silk kimono in the process.

"Did you hear of the strange guest who came in last night?"

"Oh yes! Who hasn't? They say he was burnt all over."

"A hitokiri, that's what he was."

"Hitokiri? Oh, you shouldn't make such assumptions!"

"I'm not. Did you see his katana? Frightening, that was. It's been so long since we had a visitor with a weapon. I would never have expected to see that again…"

I listened idly to the excited chatter of the servant girls outside my room while meticulously pulling my hair up in a simple top knot, not feeling in the mood for a complicated arrangement. I would have preferred Yuki, my servant girl, to help me with it, but she was running an errand for the Grandmother.

Bring a senior geisha and having already earned the highest rank in the district, one would expect me to have at least two servants at my every beck and whim. But I did not quibble over such unimportant details and Grandmother knew it. Although she said she disapproved of simplicity and open-mindedness in a geisha, she herself had often taken advantage of my complacency.

I finished putting on my makeup, and sat there, waiting for Yuki to help me with my kimono. A geisha's kimono was so rich and delicate, it had to be handled with immense care. And the obi, the complexities of donning it was best left to an expert, who, in my case, was Hetsugi-san, hopefully arriving soon.

Comfortable by my dressing table, I began to let my thoughts wander idly to the night before. To Shishio-san and Soujirou-kun. My cheeks flamed as I recalled how I had so foolishly departed from the room in a flurry of embarrassment. It had been a very long time since I had permitted a man to toy with my emotions so easily and openly. In fact, the last time had been my very first time with a man, the details of which were too painful to recount. But I had learned after that, oh how I had learned.

Under Grandmother's unyieldingly horny hand, under her barking rebukes, sharp with fury and spiteful wrath. She had never let me set a toe out of line, and for that, I didn't know whether to thank her, or to scream at her.

Before, I had always thought of geisha as entities of beauty alien to civilians, as unreachable and unattainable as the heavens. Angels possessed of such ethereal qualities, of such immense grace and talent, could never be anything but fortunate.

And yet…why do I know otherwise now?

"Yumi-sama." I started, and turned, to see a smiling Yuki, holding out a wrapped package. "What is it?" I stepped toward her, reaching out to receive it. She only grinned, and I returned her smile, contenting myself with the thought that she, being the sweet lovely girl she was, would one day know the satisfaction of being a successful geisha.

I parted the paper cautiously. It was a diamond. A big red diamond.

"Who gave this?" I gasped, shivering as the cold hardness of it reached out to my fingers with threads of ice. It was beautiful, I didn't need an expert to tell me that. Never, in all my years as a practised geisha, had I received a gift as priceless and lovely as this.

"Makoto-sama."

The diamond suddenly seemed very cold and very heavy in my palm.

I would have dropped it if not for the fact that I was already gripping it tightly underneath the rustle of the wrapping. "The man who came last night? Makoto Shishio?" I breathed. She nodded, slightly frightened, the smile fading from her lips, as she realized that I was no longer smiling back at her.

I blinked a few times, then came to my senses. "It's alright. Help me get dressed, Yuki, and get Hetsugi-san too. I want to see Grandmother."

"What is this?" I cried, as I stormed into the room, unheeding of Yuki who was hovering at my side, desperately trying to calm me down. I held the diamond to the light to let her have a good look at it, then half-tossed half-handed it to her.

"Did you promise me to him? Did some business transaction occur without my knowledge? Huh? Answer me!"

She did not speak, her eyes fixed on the stone, turning it over, inspecting, scrutinising. Ignoring me. "Answer me!" I would have physically grabbed her frail grey shoulders had Yuki not restrained me. I paused, letting the hot anger within me settle.

Finally, she looked up, her old dull eyes—old and dull they may be, but very sharp and unnerving when they wanted to be—travelling slowly, almost defiantly, from the stone to my face. And a fear which never failed to pierce me whenever her glance settled on me, shot through my heart.

I had been reckless. Reckless and stupid. And I would pay for it now.

Grandmother stood up very slowly, not because of her oldness, I knew, but because of her anger. And she spoke, each word crisp and taut. "I did no such thing. Yumi-chan, don't forget what you were, and who you are now. Never forget that it was I who gave you all this, and even if I did sell you off, gratefulness is what I should see from you. Nothing else. Do you hear me?"

Mutely, I nodded.

"I would make you understand, Yumi-chan, if you did not, with my own hands, but there is still Minami-san to think of. He would not be very happy if I did that now, would he?" Her sly eagle eyes slid from my face to travel down my body and up again. I clenched my teeth. She was a wretched old thing, and if not for all this, I would have killed her a long time ago. Unbidden, a lump of thick fury formed in my throat.

"And neither would he be happy to know that you have so ardent an admirer…" Her gaze turned to the gem, gleaming and catching the light on its numerous facets even in the dim lighting of the room. Suddenly polite, she continued, "So, to keep this from him, Yumi-chan, I will be in possession of this jewel for the time being. I will accept it as a gift from you. Do you agree with that?"

I nodded again. I seemed to have forgotten how to speak.

"And as for Makoto-san, it appears he was serious about his visit with you after all…I wouldn't be too careless with him if I were you. Although Minami-san is waiting, it is always best to have backup, don't you think?" And she laughed, her rotten cackling voice scraping against my tensed nerves.

She dismissed me with a soft, "See what you can do with Makoto-san, Yumi-chan. I'm sure this is a lot less what he is worth to us." I bowed, more out of habit than of willingness or respect, and departed, shuddering for the filthy stench that always seemed to come over the room when she was around.

Minami-san was a handsome, well-built young man. He was the son of one of the more respected ministers in the Japanese government, and was not one to be crossed. It was pure luck, Grandmother said, that he had noticed me out of the three other geisha in the establishment and requested specially for me to serve him sake.

That was two months ago. He had visited regularly after that, with simple gifts of western brooches, pretty ornaments and silk. I enjoyed being with him, for he was the only man easy to talk to among all the others I entertained.

Being a geisha, I rarely disclosed personal information about myself, and was trained to always listen to the guest, silent and polite and speaking only when spoken to. Minami-san was different, however, and he talked to me like I was a person, and not some entertainer who was there for the sole purpose of—just that, entertainment.

But there was always this guardedness I kept whenever I was around him and other men. I had not trusted anyone since my parents had betrayed the little girl's faith I put in them, and sold me off to this disgusting old lady. I had never loved, never trusted for all my seventeen years. And I would be sold off soon, Grandmother said. I would be sold off to a stranger without ever knowing love or trust.

Thoughts like that make you take a second look at yourself in the mirror and wonder if you really are what everyone thinks you are. Or if you could ever be anyone different.

Two days after Makoto-sama's first appearance, Minami-san arrived with a small casket of fresh rice wine. Yuki, with blushing cheeks and lowered eyelids, came to my room to tell me of his arrival. I smiled in anticipation when I saw her, for I knew only Minami-san could fluster the servant girls as much as this.

"Good evening, Minami-san," I greeted when I met him downstairs, allowing my lips to curve into a natural smile for once. "Yumi-san, as lovely as usual." I led him to his usual room, and we sat for a while, exchanging conversational pleasantries, until the rice wine began to take effect, after which Minami-san began an interesting talk on recent news.

"Did you hear of that escaped government spy? The one who was burnt all over?" I hadn't, but my ears immediately pricked up. "They say he survived, and is still at large. Dangerous times these are, even after the Bakumatsu."

"Why was he burnt?" I inquired softly, refilling his cup.

"Didn't you hear? I thought the talk was all over town. He worked for the government for a long time, going undercover, gathering important information, that sort of thing. I heard he was a very skilled swordsman. Some government officials began to fear that he would betray them, for he had handled a lot of top secret matters which civilians didn't even half know about, and he could disclose a lot of harmful information on the government at any time. So they burned him alive."

I would have been astonished if any other man who as good as worked for some of the highly ranked government officials told me such things, but this was Minami-san. "That's terrible…what happened after that?" I tried to keep the note of interest in my words from sounding, but Minami-san was a little too drunk to notice.

"Ah, that is the interesting part. All the people who were hired to set him on fire were killed in a matter of seconds. And that was a lot of people…ano, let me see…about twenty I believe. Yes, that's about right. And after that he escaped. He wasn't in good shape, really, after being set on fire like that. But many of the government officials have information that he not only survived but is planning to take his revenge against them. And Makoto Shishio was never one to be reckoned with, they should've known…"

I froze, then, the sake casket in mid-air. I should have known, and maybe I did know, but I didn't want to believe. And now I knew.

Minami-san said some more things after that, but nothing of as much interest as the earlier topic had aroused. After a while, his speech began to slur, his eyes grew a strange dull bright with drink, and I, gently removing the cup from his almost slack hand, chided softly, "You always had a low drink intake, Minami-san. Will you stay the night this once?" He grinned drunkenly, and I went to get the blanket.

"Minami stayed the night, didn't he?" Grandmother's tone was sharp and her gaze bore into me as I stood in her room, my head bowed.

"Yes, Grandmother."

"I told you never to let men stay."

"I know that, Grandmother."

"Then why did you deliberately disobey me?"

"He was drunk."

"Yumi-chan, I've warned you many times not to cross me, and still you do. Are you testing my patience?"

"No."

"And if ever anything ever happens to you before I sell you off—if you let something like that happen to you…"

"I know, Grandmother."

Oh yes, I knew. Didn't she tell me that every single day of my geisha training? While I was learning to play the shamisen, while I was drilled on the practised refined art of serving tea, and also of all the elaborate ceremonies that came about with being a geisha? That was why Yuki had thrown me a shocked glance when she realized Minami-san was staying the night. But I wasn't stupid. I could never toss away the line between geisha and simple prostitutes, or the very appeal of wanting and being a geisha itself.

"Grandmother, a guest has arrived for Yumi-sama." A soft-spoken maid appeared at the doorway, bowing to us as she spoke. Grandmother nodded sharply, her sagging grey skin crinkling as she scowled at me.

I departed with the maid, acutely aware of a rising tightness in my stomach, knowing who the guest was, dreading and yet in an inexplicably strange way, anticipating it.

"Shishio-sama," I greeted, the quiet confidence of my voice surprising even me.

He looked up, a glint of mild surprise in his amber eyes, as though he was expecting someone different. But then his charred lips curved, and I knew he liked this quietly self-assured geisha who stood before him, so different from the one before.

I bowed, and knelt in front of him, lifting a sleeve to pour the tea into the tiny porcelain cups which were forever ready on the table, clean and waiting. "Where is Soujirou-kun?" He watched my delicate fingers handling the steaming teapot, and answered in a slow lazy drawl, "He's on an errand. Do you long for him?"

I allowed a trace of amusement to interlace my words, as I answered, "Of course not. It is quiet without him, though."

"Yes, it is."

Feeling bold, I let my gaze wander to his katana, which I had failed to observe the last time for all my embarrassment. I knew he was watching me, watching his katana, and in some strange unexplainable way, I realized that the tightness in my gut I had felt earlier was neither fear nor nervousness. No. Now, as I took in his off-shoulder kimono, his immaculately neat white bandages, I knew it to be excitement.

"Thank you, for the gem. It was beautiful."

"I know."

I knelt there, my hands in my lap, realizing that if he didn't start a conversation, the rest of the night would be full of unpleasant silences and short exchanged comments, hardly what you would call an enjoyable night with a geisha. I wanted him to enjoy tonight, I wanted him to come back. I didn't think I had ever wanted a guest to return as much as this before. Suddenly he cocked his head to look me in the eye in a way which gave the impression that he was truly truly looking at me, seeing me for what I was for the first time, not as something to stare at and unnerve for amusement.

"Do you know who I am?" His sudden question startled me, not only because of its unexpectedness, but also because of what it implied.

I knew in that instant, what to say. It felt so right, I couldn't help myself, for all its inappropriateness. "I know you are a very wealthy guest." And then I let knowing slip through my enticing smile, my silky words, and I saw that he understood.

"I am leaving this district tomorrow." My breath caught in my throat, and I looked up in shock. He smiled soberly. A sudden reckless impulse swept over me. Take me with you, I wanted to say. Take me away from all this.

But then the handsome image of Minami-san replaced that. Everything here, these jewels, these fine kimonos and fawning admirers, these were clear as crystal. I imagined this other life with him for a whole two seconds. Walking out this building with his arm around me, and beyond that, murky obscurity.

I returned his smile with a wobbly one of my own. "I am not a man who asks for what he wants, much less begs. I always have had what I wanted in the palm of my hand." I kept my smile staunchly in place. Oh, how he made me feel! All this fear and anger and joyfulness all at once! I hated him for being able to twist me with a flick of his fingers. And yet, behind that, the realization that I would never again encounter power such as this. And the yearning, the desire to be part of that power was overwhelming.

The next thing I said I could never remember, but I think it was something like, "I'll get my things." I knew I wanted this, but I didn't know what would come after, and I was simply lost in the drowning tumult of emotions—fear and uncertainty. Yet as I made my way down the corridor, I knew my mind had never been clearer.

I met Yuki outside my room, anxious and worried that I should let another guest stay the night. I said to her in a very low voice, "I'm leaving. With Makoto-sama. Tell Grandmother if you will, I don't care." Her eyes went very wide, her face very white, and she grasped my arm in a grip tightened with desperation and panic.

"Yumi-sama," she breathed. I forced a smile to comfort her, then broke free of her grip to walk to my room. Maybe it was her disillusioned gasp, maybe it was the vague knowing that I was running into a future so blurred and cloudy, there was no other word to explain it but folly, but I turned back and reached into my obi.

Pressing my favourite butterfly pin into Yuki's palm, I reached my other arm around her in a clumsy half embrace, and whispered in her ear as I did so, "You'll be a geisha one day. Grandmother holds high hopes for you." Her eyes held reproach and depair in their hazel depths, as she began to cry, silver streaming down her pale cheeks.

I felt my own eyes burning as I went on in a low urgent whisper, "Take care of Minami-san for me." Then I swung around and went to my room to gather what little clothes and accessories I could carry without seeming impractical. When I returned to Shishio-sama, I saw that he had been waiting patiently for me.

My cheeks were flushed, my hair in disarray, but as I accepted the bandaged hand he reached out to me, I knew that didn't matter because it was him and it was now. He led me outside, where there was a fine drizzle in the sultry night.

There was a carriage waiting, and I nearly laughed out loud when I realized how surreal this all seemed. Exactly like a dream, where everything was ready and waiting for you. I stepped in, somewhat awkwardly, when I turned to face him and saw him observing me in his silent observant manner. And for once, I actually didn't feel resentment.

My head swivelled to follow the building as the carriage jolted to movement in a spurt of noise and dust, my eyes tracing the familiar entrance and pillars. Yuki appeared in my mind's eye, her lovely face streaked with those lovely tears.

And I realized with a quietly explosive revelation, like a door to a locked room being opened, that nobody had ever cried for me before.

Notes: I don't know a whole lot about geisha, and most of the stuff I know is from Arther Golden's "Memoirs of a Geisha." Grandmother isn't really Yumi's grandmother—it's just a way of addressing her. According to Maigo-chan's translations, Yumi is the highest ranking oiran in Shnyoshinara. I read somewhere that very high-ranking geisha live on their own, but I'm not too sure. Forgive me if I've made mistakes in this, I'm lousy at research and I just wanted to get started on the story quickly. And I also didn't really think that this part of the story mattered a lot, because this is, after all, a fic about Yumi and Shishio and not geisha. ^^ But any advice or corrections will be much appreciated.

  



	2. Part Two: Here and Now teaser

A/N: 02/01/04  
  
I was re-reading my old fics, fics done years ago, back when I was an entirely different person, and stumbled upon my old Black Rain word document. It struck me strongly as one of the fics I most wanted to finish, or at least get on with. I love Yumi and Shishio, I think their pairing is one with immense potential. And I realized that it was this fic, though not my lengthiest (or even my favourite), which received the most good feedback. i.e., people want to read this. this is a snippet teaser of the second chapter I did, along with the first, when i still thought i would one day complete the fic. right now, i feel like i just might...i just want to see how people respond to this. we'll see. if you think it's worth continuing, leave a note. thank you. ^_^  
  
Black Rain by Charlene  
  
Part Two: Here and Now [teaser]  
  
Standard disclaimers apply  
  
We all make gambles with our life, I suppose. And I guess that's what I did when I escaped with Shishio-sama in the carriage. A man burnt beyond recognition, a man about which I knew nothing, except that he was a wanted man, whom influential government officials were after.  
  
I didn't know where we were going, even now. He was beside me, silent and motionless, even as his presence rang in my ears louder than the roar of the carriage wheels. I shut my eyes for a time, simply letting the monotonous motion of the carriage wash over me, not thinking, reproaching or worrying.  
  
Suddenly, a prickly sensation passed over my being. I opened my eyes, recognizing it as the feeling of being watched. His amber gaze again, a hint of amusement and curiosity tinging their yellow depths. I spoke, very softly.  
  
"Why did you take me?"  
  
He paused, seeming to take in the question, and pondering the answer. I don't know what I felt, sitting there, waiting for his answer, an answer that would sharpen the edges of my future, make everything clear again. It was wrong yet almost funny, how a man I had known for only three days could have such god-like control over my life this way.  
  
"The same might be asked of you."  
  
Yes, indeed. Why had I followed him? I could easily have chosen not to, I could have chosen to remain a top-ranking geisha whose only ties were to her employer. Showered by gifts and wealth in abundance, my presence gracing only men of the highest caste, men who could destroy countless lives without lifting a finger.  
  
I don't think he expected an answer, for I felt rather than saw his gaze leave me, to turn to the passing buildings and houses. It was just as well, for I didn't know the answer to his probe, and neither did I know the answer to my own.  
  
But had I ever held any answers within? I had, after all, always been simply a life tossed around by other lives around me, a fallen leaf in a pond floating with the ripples, taking the path they led me to. Always a follower, never a leader.  
  
The well-kept buildings around us gradually gave way to old, less sightly establishments. Then dilapidated huts and shacks within which citizens of the lowest castes resided. The outskirts of the city. Only when the carriage began to plunge into the dark foreboding depths of the forests, did I feel a pang of anxiety stab at me.  
  
I couldn't help a nervous side glance at him. He simply sat, his arms crossed leisurely, his head tilted to one side in a completely relaxed position. I turned my gaze away and didn't speak again for the rest of the journey.  
  
The carriage halted by a dauntingly high black gate with spired prongs, behind which stood a large Western-style mansion. I didn't know what to make of it-I'd never seen a place so grand in the middle of-nowhere. But then again, I'd never met a man charred from head to toe who'd not think twice about taking me in.  
  
I glanced warily at him, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a cynical smirk. I quickly turned away, and graciously accepted the hand of the carriage driver who helped me out. I was led through the stately and yet strangely forbidding black gates, through the black night, the black wind wrapping about me in an icy, hardly comforting embrace.  
  
It was a dream, yes, exactly like a dream. I couldn't feel, nor speak, nor see. All I could do was be still, as these scenes passed by me as naturally as living-as breathing itself. Yes, it was natural, all natural, just like the calm fog of peace that had settled over my mind.  
  
I was led through unlit halls and rooms, corridors, until I came to a large door. "Your room, Yumi-sama." Startled, I spun around and realized that Shishio-sama had left my side and a petite maid had taken his place. Of course, I inwardly laughed. Of course he wouldn't bother to show me my room, what was I thinking?  
  
Numbly, I dismissed the shy mouse and reached to slide the door open. Dreamily, I took in the large Western-style bed with its four grand posts and soft satin curtains, and the bulky antique furniture adorning the room which offered no semblance of the essence which made a room what it was.  
  
Then, I dimly realized that he had given me a room of my own, a room in a separate wing from his. A complicated maze of corridors and winding staircases away from his.  
  
And I smiled, perhaps the first real smile I had allowed myself to show on this strange unreal night.  
  
I noticed there were no sakura trees here. Grandmother always made sure there were at least a couple of sakura trees grown next to, or around the establishment. I don't know why, nor was I curious to find out, but I had gotten used to them and now missed them when they were gone.  
  
Especially this one, right next to my balcony, which shed pink petals regularly-always without fail. And these petals would settle by my feet and I would look down upon them and see just how much beauty they brought into the drab old balcony. I would silently thank the wind for bringing these little blessings with their refreshing coolness, but these quiet times with the sakura tree and me were gone.  
  
There were no birds either, I had been awake for hours now, listening for the morning chirp of a sparrow, or the big ugly call of a crow. None had come and I knew now there were no birds. Nor was there the sakura tree.  
  
I shifted on the mattress. Had it really been hours? Maybe it had just been minutes, and I had let my mind drift so deliciously, and indulged so carelessly in these small insignificant memories, that I had lost my sense of time and thought hours had gone by, when simply short minutes had passed.  
  
No, it was morning. It had been hours since I came, not many to be sure, but hours just the same. Hours hours...how many? Enough to make me late for something I ought not to be late for? Or too few, so that I should bury my head back into the lumpy uncomfortable Western pillow and force slumber into a head that sorely needed, yet stubbornly refused it?  
  
No, I should get up. It didn't matter what the time was, it was always better to be early than late and besides, it would be good if I could learn to find my way around more quickly. I rolled ungracefully out of the huge noisy Western mattress and went away to wash and dress.  
  
When I looked outside I realized that it was actually early, much too early for me to be awake. The sun was still in the midst of rising and the sky was cast with its brilliance. But sunrises, like all things, never last as long as you want them to, I reflected silently.  
  
Nevertheless, I padded out of my room quietly. A very slow quiet sense of anti-climax came to surround me as I realized that it was apparent nobody was home. Where had Shishio-sama gone? Had he left me here, alone but for the maids, in this huge foreign place? Suddenly I felt acutely that I should not have come.  
  
The deep echoing sense of a place devoid of people grew around me, and I found myself beginning to wander the corridors more eagerly, look around each corner more furtively. So, when I suddenly heard the soft but unmistakable metallic 'ching' of a sword, relief washed over me even through my startlement. I hurried in the direction of the sounds and, as they grew in volume, so did a huge dark oak door which was carved with oriental patterns grow closer.  
  
I was so utterly eager in my search for a single living being in this maze of a place, that I had in my excitement completely forgotten my manners and good breeding. Shoving the door open, my gaze met that of the boy-Soujirou, who had once appeared with Shishio-sama during a visit to me.  
  
He seemed astonished at having been interrupted, but by no means, unwelcoming. "Yumi-san!" There was a katana of excellent make in his right hand, and a terribly battered floor beneath his slippered feet. I found it strange that the floor should look so ancient and overused when the rest of everything was so splendidly new.  
  
Recalling my manners, I quickly bowed slightly. "Soujirou-san. Please forgive my interruption. I was..." I paused. "Looking for Shishio-sama." His gentle blue eyes were comforting for all their blueness, and yet there was something unnerving about the way none of his features altered in the least during conversation, or anything else for that matter.  
  
"Oh, not a problem at all. And you can call me Soujirou." He smiled pleasantly, an action which warmed me to my heart, for all the coldness and indifference I had been treated with the past few days. "I imagine you must be hungry, Yumi-san. Here, I'll take you to the dining room for your breakfast." I quickly declined politely, imagining myself a trouble to him, but he persisted, and kept his weapon away carefully.  
  
..to be continued 


End file.
